The Shattered Mirror
by kurisu313
Summary: A story of the Dark Eldar bringing their own brand of pain to a human world.
1. A New Day

**Chapter 1**

**A New Day**

Kuras awoke, his emerald green eyes opening onto the ceiling of his chambers. He stretched, wringing out his muscles on his sumptuous bed. At this point in time, his chamber was red everywhere. Red walls, red ceiling, red flooring, red bedsheets. For the time, he found it soothing, the colour of blood. He'd tire of it in a few days and have it redecorated, but for now, it still amused him.

He sat up, his silvery-white hair falling about his shoulders, his naked torso exposed. No conquests joined him this morning, which was a shame, but there were ways to alleviate that.

"Sara," he called. A few moments later, his…servant appeared from a small side chamber. She was small, even for a human girl, not quite hitting five foot. Her face, so utterly unlike his pale knife edge was tan and round, with a pleasant smile that spread into her large cheeks. Her slender form was encased in a tight cerulean silk dress, another one of his current fancies.

"Good morning, Master, how may I serve you?" She asked sweetly, that smile lighting up her face. Stockholm syndrome. What an interesting condition, Kuras thought. What a fascinating race the humans were. At this moment, he didn't feel the need to hurt this girl, but was amazed by the fact that she would gasp in pleasure as he did so.

A fascinating species, the Commorite thought. As Archon to the Kabal of the Shattered Mirror, Kuras had a lot of power to indulge his whims. His chief interest in this life was humanity. They were so varied, so different. His people were all one and the same; cold blooded murderers.

But if he took a group of humans down to the torture chambers; one would hold out till death, another would cave immediately. One would beg and plead, another would curse and threaten. And a very few, like Sara, would love it.

_Fascinating._

In an unusually playful mood, Kuras grabbed Sara and dragged her on to the bed. He ran his hands over that smooth silk, eliciting gasps of pleasure, and just to remind her, he would occasionally dig in too hard. Unbidden, he became aroused and expended the girl, biting, tearing, cutting. He didn't kill her, but she would need some medical attention in the near future. It was mildly rejuvenating for his soul, and he felt much more energised.

And she had enjoyed every last second. _Fascinating._ He did so love that word.

He had the refuse tidied away to be put back together, and a second member of his harem, Keri, sought to his needs. She was taller and more buxom, with glowing blond hair tied back. How varied. She wore an almost identical dress, but violet. Keri was not as deep as Sara, but still had a familial relationship with her captor.

She helped him don his midnight blue war-plate. Today, after all, was a day when the Kabal went to war.

===][===

"Good morning, Master," said a deep voice as he left his private quarters. It belonged to Malathys, his Klaivex. The Eldar was tall, even for a tall people, broad of shoulder. His heavy helmed visage followed Kuras' movements, and he fell into lockstep behind him as he passed.

"Is the war-council summoned, Malathys?" Of all the Eldar he knew, Malathys came the closest to being trusted. However, there was no word in the Commorite language for trust, merely varying likelihoods of betrayal. He rated Malathys as a _Garun'kai_, at about a five percent chance of backstabbing him. Incubi were mostly trustworthy, after all.

"Of course, Master. They await you in your throne room as we speak."

"I hope I haven't kept them waiting too long," Kuras chuckled, not caring. He heard a rare laugh from the Klaivex.

"Just long enough to anger your sister." Kuras laughed at that. Few things gave him greater pleasure.

"Well, let's not keep the princess waiting any longer."

===][===

Kuras entered the throne room from a private passage at the very back. He casually and brazenly walked around the throne, to sit and address the arrayed individuals. Along the walls, his guard of Incubi stood, greatswords shouldered.

The room was vast, and made almost exclusively from cut marble. Huge pennants bearing the symbol of the Shattered Mirror hung from the walls. Down a relatively modest flight of steps, his three principle generals stood, backed up by a host of flunkies.

There was Silkaro, his Dracon, leader of the Kabal's Warriors. He was dour and workmanlike, with a jet black ponytail. He was another Eldar high on the trust scale. He generally lacked the imagination to climb any higher up the ladder. But, then again, those were the ones to watch.

Then there was Arianys, his sister, and Succubus; leader of the Wych Cult. She was most certainly not trusted. The bitch had never forgiven him for killing and usurping their father. Well, daddies' little princess could spin on a pike for all he gave a damn. But keeping her around was amusing. He was, however, interested by that curvaceous Syren behind her; maybe he should consider 'promoting' her.

The last was Korolion, his Chief Haemonculus. Trustworthy in the sense that he seemed to enjoy his job a little too much. Anyone who described Kuras' smile as shark-like would instantly retract that upon seeing Korolion. His crooked leer was devoid of any soul whatsoever.

"Greeting, my loyal subjects!" Kuras said, his flair for the melodramatic kicking in. The assembled congregation beat their fist against their chest, except of course, for Arianys, who simply glared at him.

Kuras couldn't help but grin, exposing his flawless teeth. "Are we looking forward to murder?" He asked in a voice loaded with amusement, to a chorus of assents. "The first raid for this mission has been selected. Your petitions and bribes have been gratefully received and I can now announce the winner: Korolion!"

The Master Haemonculus drew his rictus smile back even further, and a sibilant hiss arose from the Haemonculi and Wracks behind him. Arianys threw a sidelong glance, but knew better than to risk the wrath of the Coven. Silkaro smiled, seemingly expecting it.

"Thank you for this glorious honour," the twisted Eldar rasped.

"Take what you will for your needs, but please do leave enough…victims for a suitable message," said Kuras, grinning from ear to ear.

"Oh yes, Master, I do believe I have just the…treatment in order." He laughed a distinctive laugh, high and grating.

There was a sudden commotion. One of Silkaro's subordinated had literally tried to stab him in the back. In a masterful display, the Dracon span his spear, disarming the Eldar before knocking him to the floor and jabbing him blade first, pinning him to the ground. This elicited feeble grunts of pain.

"With this many witnesses? I thought I trained you better than that," he said and spat on the prostrate Eldar. "My apologies for the disruption, my Master." Kuras merely nodded. An enjoyable little spectacle.

===][===

Dacia was a small planet on the edges of Imperial space. It was a green and verdant land, its only real value. Producing food was the only thing that prevented it from disappearing into the void from the attentions of alien raiders.

Its planetary capitol was like any average Imperial city, modern, with a sprawling spaceport and enormous defensive walls. All trade passed through here, and it was wealthy. Beyond that, the average tech level was low, with most being used on large farming machines. People lived in almost medieval style buildings. They lived their lives in relative poverty, hoping for the rare chance to visit the capitol's bright lights.

Planetary Governor Mehan Petrovitch was in his private quarters after a long and busy day. He had changed into a luxurious silken robe that would have bankrupted many of his citizens. He swirled a glass of the finest Mordian Cognac, a rare pleasure. He was a tall man, but broad from good living. His hair and beard were a neatly trimmed brown, fading to grey at his temples.

He made to his balcony, to overlook the sights of his city, when he started. There was someone on his balcony. Terror rising in his throat at the bladed shadow, he tried hoarsely to call for help.

"I wouldn't," said a refined voice, belonging to the shadow. "But don't worry, I'm just here for a nice chat. No need to panic and make a fuss." The shadow stepped into the lit room, revealing Kuras' form. Mehan dropped the glass, alcohol spilling.

"Who…what are you?" He managed to choke out. Damn him, but mortal peril had foiled all of his higher cognitive functions. Thinking had become difficult. How did this Xenos know Low Gothic? The Eldar actually bowed in a formal manner.

"Greeting, I am Archon Kuras of the Shattered Mirror. May I request the pleasure of your name?" He dripped sarcasm from his words.

"I am Governor Mehan Petrovich," he replied, finding confidence in his title. "How the hell did you get here?"

Kuras cocked an eyebrow and smiled smugly. "How did I evade a human sensor net at low threat priority? I don't know, it was so difficult!" He barked a laugh, abrasive. "Now, I can see that you've had a long day, so I'll be brief."

Kuras walked away from Mehan, turning to face the open balcony. "I am going to subjugate this world."

Mehan's eyes widened, but he found his backbone. "You think a world of the Emperor is just going to surrender to you?"

Kuras looked over his shoulder with an expression like a daemon of the warp. "Of course not, we're going to break you first! I will come to you again, and I will demand your surrender. It is my intent that by that time, you will be so destroyed by the horrors that we will have inflicted that you'll have no choice."

"We will never surrender to you! This galaxy is our birthright!" Mehan now blazed with anger.

"Ah good, you're a fighter; those are perhaps the most fun to break. Not that a weakling isn't fun every now and again. Variety is the key to enjoy yourself, don't you agree? I mean, just this very morning, I had this girl…" Mehan's fists clenched and his teeth ground together at the bastard's over-familiarity.

"Guards!" Mehan shouted loudly, done with this conversation. Kuras smiled and idly wandered back towards the balcony. He sniffed.

"Mordian Cognac? Not a bad drink. May I suggest a Heldonian Port? But you have to avoid the 965 to the 970 vintages, because they had a terrible drought."

"How do you know about things like that?" Mehan gasped, his voice aghast. Two guards flew through the door, pistols raised. A moment before he jumped from the balcony, Kuras spoke.

"Because you humans do fascinate me so!" Then he leapt into seemingly thin air, before an almost invisible craft, a Venom not that Mehan knew, took off with him clinging on to the back.

"Get me General Wesser on the vox now!" Mehan shouted at his bewildered guards. "We've got to make preparations soon, or we are surely doomed."

===][===

Korolion stood at the realspace docks, preparing to enter the conflict for the first stage. Behind him, his warhost assembled. Haemonculi glided on metal tails. Wracks vied for position, eager to practice their craft on the living. Thundering Grotesques strained at their leashes, desperate to repay the pain they existed in at all times. And above them came the Pain Engines and the Abattoirs.

Korolion licked his lips and ran his hands together in joyful anticipation. Kuras had asked him to send a message to the humans, to make them fear the Eldar. Now that, that he could do.


	2. The Flesh Butchers

**Chapter 2**

**The Flesh Butchers**

They came in the night, of course. Always in the night.

It was a small village, a bit bigger than the average farmstead that dotted the planet's surface. It was at a crossroads, four large roads intersecting. People came here to deal with small trade, things that didn't need the capitol's greater blessing. The village was overseen by a church, watching over it on a small incline.

People became roused from their sleep as the first panicked cries began to emerge, the first sounds of destruction. Something huge and guttural bellowing in rage. Buildings began to burn, though more from accident than design. These buildings were horrendously flammable with their thatched roofs and wooden supports.

Korolion slithered down a large thoroughfare, enjoying the sights and sounds, but feeling rather frustrated by his lack of ability to get his hands on a decent subject. He hadn't been able to prevent his Grotesque bodyguard from slaughtering a family he'd come across. He'd gotten his hands on a little boy, but in his haste he'd made it expire. Frustrating; he knew better than that.

He could hear a gaggle of Wracks cackling like Hyenas as they plied their murderous trade in a building nearby, and he felt a paternal smile pass his features. He was proud of his current class. They would make decent torturers, all of them.

Then, to his amazement, a human was coming at him. A middle aged man, in nothing more than his britches, armed with a shovel. In an instant, his venom blade flashed, and the man staggered, a bloody line across his right bicep. He re-gathered his wits and came again, but the shovel dropped from his hands, nerveless, and Korolion hefted him by his throat with the wiry strength Haemonculi possessed.

"Just a little blue anemone," Korolion noted with satisfaction. Unlike Kuras, he'd never learnt Gothic, and instead spoke in his own tongue. "A neurotoxin; doesn't kill, just incapacitates. It also prevents system shock." Calliper-arms on his back moved out and with awful precision removed the man's eyes while he was fully conscious. He couldn't scream. His hand moved and sewed the damaged sockets shut.

Not yet done, he drew his butcher's saw and removed both of the man's hands, again making sure to tie up the loose ends, to prevent exsanguination. He proudly admired his handiwork, drinking in the man's pain and absolute terror. He dumped him on the ground, immobile. A Grotesque rampaging nearby smelled the distinctive blue anemone and moved on. All members of the party knew it to be a safe trigger. Those weren't to be touched.

"That's one," he mumbled, moving on.

===][===

Arming himself with a shotgun, Hans Murgen edged slowly out of his front door, listening. He was more scared than he could ever remember being. He had no idea what was happening, but with his wife and child inside, there was no way that he would sit idly by.

There was a gaggle of creatures, about the size of a human, but pale and unhealthy. They all wore metal masks, hiding their identities. They were conversing about something in their tongue, but he could understand their laughter. The group split apart, and now two were coming his way.

_Not going to get much better odds._

He jumped out, shouting, and took the first one utterly by surprise in the chest. It went down, a huge hole blown in its ribcage. The second reacted with startling speed, drawing some foul cudgel dripping with blue liquid. It launched at him, but at the last instant his second shot went off, taking out most of the thing's upper torso.

Breathing heavily, he reloaded his shotgun. Hans had never killed a person before. Even if that word stretched to include these things. It was numbing, shocking. But whatever they were, they weren't immortal. Though the first one was still moving a distressing amount. He stamped on its neck until it stopped.

Then the entirety of his house seemed to dissipate. He turned to see something huge plough through. It was like a…well, it defied comparative analogies. A huge dark blue carapace swept back over a pale torso that housed an endless array of mechanical arms. His wife shrieked, and he watched in abject horror as in moments it flayed her into her separate components, hoovering them into separate vials erupting from its side.

His son screamed and the _thing _turned towards the sound. Hans shot it repeatedly at point blank range, but it seemed to shrug off the damage. A tail swatted him casually aside as it murdered his child. Then it came for him.

Having finished, but still under its imperative orders, the Talos moved on.

===][===

Korolion proceeded to the church. He hoped the human religious leader slept there, but didn't know. What a bizarre concept religion was, he thought. As far as he was aware, no god could be appeased by praise. All roads led to eventual damnation, it was just a matter of how long one could avoid it.

He broke the lock with practised ease and pushed the heavy wooden doors open. It led into a large vestibule. Is this were the humans made their worship? He had to admit; it was interesting, if only as a passing fancy. He pressed on, looking for a back passage to living chambers when the man appeared.

Hilariously, he was jabbing a votive icon in Korolion's direction, while demanding the Emperor cast out the daemon. He couldn't help it; he burst out laughing. Even without understanding the language, the intent was clear. The holy man, a priest, he guessed, froze at the inhuman sound.

"Oh, dear child, thank you. You've made my night. Now, allow me to make yours."

===][===

In the course of that night, not a single person was spared; save for the few near the village's edge that had the common sense to simply flee into the night. Most were placed into the Abattoir's, great slab-sided skimmers that carried them away to the Haemonculi's laboratories.

A large number were also simply expended, murdered in brutal fashion by the Grotesques, or decomposed by the Pain Engines. The coven drank deep that night, enjoying themselves.

But the remainder, roughly ten percent of the populous, had a more important goal; they were the message.

As dawn rose, no sign of the darkling kin was left, save for their handiwork.

===][===

Called by those fleeing survivors, a single Chimera rumbled up in the early hours of the morning. It was painted in green mottled camo, and ten men piled out of the back in flak armour of the same colour. Sergeant Leverson of the PDF ordered his men to spread out, safeties off. There was no telling what might be left. Emperor, did he wish for some back up.

The men moved slowly through the ruins. After a short while, they started calling out with increasing desperation. Was there no one left alive? Then they found them.

They were bumbling around, because they had no eyes. They were sewn shut, but there were no eyeballs there. They called out desperately for help, groping around with their…stumps. They had no hands. There were dozens of them all feebly crying for help; some men, some women, some children.

Leverson heard at least two of his men throw up. He felt his own sanity wear thin. This was a sleepy, boring world. To see something like this…it was unthinkable. He hurried to the church to see if Father Bastion was alright. He wasn't stupid, but he had to see, to believe the Emperor offered some protection.

He noted the door was open and pressed in, letting his gun fall. He would not raise his weapon in His house. He made his way down the aisle, scanning. It was right in front of him. He hadn't noticed, hadn't thought…

Father Bastion was still alive. But Leverson had no idea how. He was hung, crucifix style above the pulpit. His chest was splayed open and every single organ inside his body was now outside, though still attached. He could watch his heart beat and lungs struggle.

What manner of sorcery could keep a man alive in this state? The Father groaned, but he had no tongue. No eyes. No hands. Leverson immediately forsook his earlier reservation, drawing his laspistol.

"I'm so, so sorry," he said, trying not to retch, "but I grant you the Emperor's mercy."

The shot sounded like thunder in the silence.

===][===

"How is the stock?" Kuras asked. He stood behind a pane of glass as Korolion worked on a subject, vivisecting it. It was female, not that either really noticed. It was screaming, which they did. The Haemonculus held up a still beating heart. Kuras did so enjoy this wizardry. It was fascinating.

Kuras' own torture preferences were the complete opposite. He generally used bloodless methods. He always felt that once he made the first cut, it would rapidly spiral out of control. He loved punishing whole bodies more, dragging out the suffering of individuals rather than mass bloodletting. And a person intact could always be cut later.

"A little disease ridden, but otherwise fairly hardy. I believe that they would make good livestock." Kuras smiled at the Haemonculus' choice of word.

"Can you purge them of their diseases?" It was a fairly workmanlike problem, and the Haemonculus made an expression of annoyance.

"Of course I can. I do hate ending suffering, but strong livestock is important. I can make ready a course of anti-virals quickly." He barked orders at a nearby Wrack and he leapt to obey. "The diseases are all base things, nothing complicated." Sudden interest flared in his eyes. "Would you like me to unleash a virus on another human settlement?"

Kuras laughed at his eagerness. "Maybe later. Your first raid seems to have hit the mark. It's Silkaro's turn next. As is only right."

The Haemonculus never lost his interest. "And do we know the exalted Dracon's chosen method?"

Kuras raised a placating hand. "I don't know. I doubt it will be as visceral as yours, but he has a certain straightforward flair for despair."

===][===

"Wesser, thank the Throne!" Mehan greeted the General of the PDF. The Governor's mansion contained a small war room, unused in its lifetime. Tech adepts laboured to get the venerable cogitators working again. Once they did, they'd at least have a central command. Rows of comm.-stations surrounded a central holo-table.

General Abraham Wesser was a short man in his forties, clean shaven with distinguished grey hair. His face's notable feature was a sophisticated bionic eye in place of his left one. With a perfect salute, he greeted the governor.

"Can't say I'm happy to be of service again, but we'll show these Xenos a thing or two, by the Throne! Unfortunately, we have no positive ID on the exact race we're dealing with. It sounds like the Piratical Eldar breed, though." Wesser walked over the now working holo-table, and drew up a simple map of the planet's surface.

"The main problem we face is mobility. The scum can attack us anywhere, while we can only hold certain locations. The first step is to identify key locations and protect those," he appraised in his clipped tones.

"I assume that you have suggestions." It wasn't a question.

"We only have the manpower to defend the Capitol, and these five key cities." Yellow icons glowed on the map, in response to his inputted commands.

"Five?" Said Mehan, aghast. "How many people does that leave to die?"

Wesser's expression hardened. "We will evacuate as many as we can to our defensible locations. As many as we can feed for a prolonged time. The rest will be left to their own devices. There is no guarantee that they will be attacked. In the Emperor's mercy, some may be spared."

"But my citizens…" said Mehan inconclusively. Wesser handed him a dataslate. Mehan scrolled through it, and it contained information of the recent attack, including numbers, details and pict-captures. His gorge rose.

"I'm sorry, Mehan. But in order to prevent this happening as much as possible, some people will have to be sacrificed." Wesser at least sounded contrite.

Mehan sighed, his shoulders sagging. "Begin the evacuation."

===][===

Sybarite Dobengal laughed like a hyena, permanently half-baked on narcotics. He had just finished listening to Silkaro's plan of attack with amazement. His voice was normally quite low pitched, but it became sharp and annoying when he was amused.

"You're gonna attack the main capitol already? That's ballsy, man!" He was of the assembled squad leaders of the Kabal's Warriors.

Another Sybarite, Amenkon made a more useful appraisal. "Is Master Kuras going to be happy with us attacking such a high profile target without informing him? This could backfire if he is displeased."

"We're not going to destroy it," Silkaro said patiently. "Our goal is discord. We shall begin by reminding them that even in their strongest fortress that they are not safe. Who is going to join me in spreading fear?"

There was a cheer from the assembled leaders.

===][===

"Well, well," said Kuras, perched on his throne. "A ballsy strategy indeed. Thank you, Ar'rankar."

With a contented hiss, the Mandrake evapourated back into the shadows, to act once again as Kuras' eyes and ears. He snapped his fingers, and Keri swiftly moved to his side, proffering a glass of fine wine. He took it with a thanks and one of his best paternal smiles. He sat back, sipping, and spoke to himself.

"Interesting, Silkaro. You have my attention. How this plays out will be most interesting indeed."


	3. Strike at the Heart

**Chapter 3**

**Strike at the Heart**

The _Fifth Horseman _bucked and reared over the stormy waves. Torrential rain poured out of a sky pitch black, even the moon hidden behind a thick cloud barrier. Sailors worked miserably across its deck, making sure all of the cargo was well secured. The ship was an enormous frigate, used for transporting mass quantities of non-perishable goods. Anything more valuable went by air.

Inside the ship's small bridge, elevated and located near the aft, Captain Brahagan watched the weather with a cautious eye. He didn't like it. It was about as bad as could remember, and he'd served a lifetime in the coastguard before 'retiring' into less strenuous duties. _Less strenuous indeed, _he thought, chuckling.

The _Horseman _crashed down over a swell, sending a bow wave over the front deck, sailors scurrying back. They were still a day away from port, and had had no warning of the invasion so far.

_Can't get any worse, _he thought, eyeing the storm.

There was...something. It wasn't an explosion, exactly, and it wasn't like a shudder could have been felt over the waves anyway. Before he could ask a question, one of his staff called out.

"Comm's down!" Had it been a lightning strike? He had seen a brief flash. What the devil was going on?

Appropriately, it was the Devil.

===][===

It had swept in, ridiculously low over the waves, as if daring them to knock it out of the sky. At the very last second before crashing into the ship's flank the Voidraven pulled up in a steep ascent and dropped its precious cargo. The void mine struck the comm.-array, and it disappeared in a ball of dark energy.

Following it was the Raiders and Venoms. In the absolute black, even the Commorites had some degradation to their aim, but the target was vast. Its pitiful armament consisted of four turret guns, and they weren't manned. Why would they be? They weren't at war. Dark Lances flashed out and they were destroyed in instants.

Seconds later, the Kabalites were on the deck, Eldar agility finding easy footing on the treacherous deck. But then again, they were used to treacherous.

In total, one hundred Kabalite Warriors alighted onto the decking, with the addition of Silkaro's Trueborn. Sailors, completely helpless by surprise and environment didn't stand a chance. A few died to splinter rounds, but a delightful idea spread quickly, and many were simply thrown screaming into the ocean.

Silkaro gave no orders. They all knew the plan, and any not following it now were either traitors or high on killing, making ordering them irrelevant. While the Trueborn headed for the bridge, the rest moved below decks to enjoy themselves, or tamper with the cargo. If any touched the engines though, Silkaro would kill them personally.

===][===

Brahagan was terrified. He'd only caught glimpses of the assault through the horrendous conditions, but he knew that he was under attack. He heard the lock try to turn, but they'd sealed the door. There was rapping, as if they were actually knocking, and a poorly accented voice spoke in Low Gothic.

"If anyone's in there, I suggest you get back from the door."

The door simply ceased to exist in a bizarre purple flash. The next instant a blaster wielding Trueborn leapt through, gesturing with the weapon, daring someone to try him. More pushed through with much more sensible carbines for the enclosed space. In total, the bridge crew was only three men: the Captain, the Comms man and the Pilot. None were armed.

Screaming in fear, the Comms man jumped at the nearest Trueborn. In seconds, he was on the floor, the elite Eldar pinning him to the ground in the most painful fashion he could without causing him injury.

At last, Dracon Silkaro stepped through, joining the four Eldar inside. The others remained outside as defence. He removed his helmet, allowing his hair to spill out. He languidly observed the bridge crew. The maggot whining on the ground, a painfully young boy, and an older man who he assumed to be the captain.

"What is his role on the ship?" He asked, gesturing to the prostrate man. There was no reply, so he made gesture and the Trueborn produced a knife, holding it to the man.

"He's our Comm expert!" Captain Brahagan said in desperation. The Dracon smiled at that.

"Then he is disposable. He is your gift," he said, gesturing to the Trueborn holding him. Cackling, he began to cut with the knife, making ritual wounds. A common practice in some youngsters, though needlessly formulaic in Silkaro's opinion. The man screamed and screamed as the Eldar looked on with amusement.

"Aah, it is good to be out of the rain," Silkaro said amiably to the two remaining men. He lit a stick of na'khale, a low level narcotic, and took a drag. He offered it to the two humans who just stared at him with fear and loathing. "No? You won't have much enjoyment left in your lives, you may want to reconsider."

"What do you want?" Shouted Brahagan with all the courage he could muster, fists balled. Silkaro turned to look at the steering wheel.

"Literally a manual turning system? How primitive." He turned the wheel left and right, noting the ship change course. "I feared we may need your pilot." He made another gesture, and a second Trueborn pushed the Captain aside, and set upon the young man. Brahagan tried to stop him, but was sent reeling by an elbow to the face. A second set of screams joined the requiem.

A third Trueborn made to the wheel, pulling out some kind of Eldar equivalent of a data-slate. It charted the course to the destination, and he easily got the hang of the simplistic controls, working through how to alter speed.

Silkaro sat down in the captain's chair. "Now _Captain, _it's going to be a long trip, and your comrades won't be around too much longer. So why don't we have a nice chat to pass the time?"

===][===

"Is she damaged?" Called the dock master.

"Her turret emplacements appear to be damaged and the comm.-mast is gone. Other than that, she looks whole." The younger man was using a pair of binoculars to see. "She's coming about for dock three. Do we let her in?"

"She might be damaged by the storm or attacked by the Xenos. I'm not leaving Brahagan and his men to rot. Let them in." _We need the supplies too, _he added silently.

The ship steered like a drunkard, but perhaps her engine was damaged too. It wasn't a graceful docking, but _The Fifth Horseman _successfully made her way in, killing her speed. Repair crews and medical staff hurried to the dock to see if they were needed. Anxious hands hurried to help.

They were the first to die.

Splinter fire mowed down the defenceless civilians easily. They cried out as bodies hit the floor, mouths foaming in response to powerful toxins. Fast moving bladed forms jumped from the ship, hacking apart any who were left. Silkaro alighted onto the dock as well.

"Forwards! We'll have time to savour later, but now let us feast!"

===][===

Unseen, the docks essentially formed a gaping hole in the city walls. The Kabalites made a straight line towards the city centre, cutting down hordes of civilians unaware of the intrusion. Mass panic spread as people fled for their lives, choking streets that PDF troopers tried to move down.

Silkaro was annoyed as the inevitable happened. Kabalites high on pain stopped to torture, and the force began to fragment. His Trueborn stayed on point, but he was losing cohesion.

"Ravax, Amenkon, Dobengal! Get your warriors back in the fight!" He shouted at his sybarites. Amenkon obeyed immediately, and Ravax made a sly look before loping off. Dobengal appeared to have forgotten where he was. _He was a liability. _"Dobengal!" Silkaro shouted, and the drug addled Sybarite suddenly snapped back to reality. "Your men. Moving. Now!"

"Sure thing, boss. Kyahaha!" He also ran to gather his men. Slowly, the warriors began to congeal, but by now, PDF troopers had begun to engage in the well-lit roads. Eldar began shooting out the streetlights, throwing as much darkness onto the fight as possible.

The casualties were horrendously one sided, but Kabalites began to fall as lasrounds made their marks. Warriors high on the slaughter they'd wreaked could bear a lot of punishment, but there was a limit. Cursing, Silkaro ordered a staggered fall back, and activated his webway portal.

Dragging their casualties, the Kabalites slowly fell back under the cover of darkness that the PDF were afraid to advance into. Soon, no Eldar remained. With not even bodies left behind, to any appraising the attack, it looked as if men and women had chosen to spontaneously die in the most horrific fashion.

===][===

"Merciful Emperor," Governor Mehan muttered as he surveyed the scene. Once the area had been scoured to make sure the Xenos were gone, he'd travelled there personally with a PDF bodyguard for security.

Bodies were _everywhere, _most of them civilians shot in the back. Here and there were the corpses of people who'd gotten more attention, hacked up in a variety of cruel and brutal ways. Eldar lance technology left little in the way of corpses, but lines were hacked out of the ground and buildings. Shredder fire…he retched.

Behind cordons, flocks of people stood, watching the scene in silence or crying out for their loved ones.

"This will not stand…," he said, and he felt the tug of attention as people nearby noticed their Governor speaking. "This will not stand!" He shouted at the sky. People were definitely drawn to him now.

"With the Emperor as my witness, we will repay this scum a hundred fold! I hereby request that any person of eighteen years or more enlist into the PDF! If we unite and stand together, we can…no we will crush these abominations in His holy name!"

Some people began to cheer and applaud. Most didn't feel it, but the infectious rush caught them up and they started as well. General Wesser looked on, concern warring with hope. It was certainly true that more bodies would help, but training would take time. A civilian with a gun was a liability, not an asset.

===][===

Eldar have the capability to recall their memories with perfect clarity. Doing so, Silkaro sat in a trance, counting the dead humans he could see. The ship's crew numbered about a hundred, he had learned. He reckoned that the total dead must be in excess of a thousand when the deaths he didn't see were factored in, which wasn't exactly bad, but he'd lost ten Kabalites along the way.

Those Kabalites could undergo rejuvenation, but still, it rankled. The plan wasn't a failure per se – the only goal hi wished to achieve was to reach the governor's mansion to make a point – but he felt like it hadn't had the impact he had wished for.

Still, he had cut a bloody swathe through the human's main dwelling, and made them fear using their marine vessels. In terms of pure body count, his assault far exceeded the Haemonculi's, and in terms of fear, he had struck a telling blow.

Time to face the music.

===][===

"Wonderful, Silkaro, wonderful!" Kuras was in full melodramatic mode, clapping with glee. "What a perfect message to send. Even in their own strongest fastness, you struck without warning and butchered them in droves. Wonderful!"

"I am honoured by your flattery, my Lord," said Silkaro kneeling, eyes fixed at Kuras' feet.

"Of course," said Kuras, making the Dracon tense, "They will turtle their defences, gathering more soldiers. The next time we assault the capitol will be much harder, won't it?"

Silkaro's heart seized in fear, but before he could respond, Kuras continued, his voice low and ugly.

"So when we break it again, their morale will shatter like glass."

_Damn him, _thought Silkaro. The Archon had skilfully manoeuvred the conversation to either praise or blame him depending on the final outcome. We win, here's a gift. We lose, it was your fault. Very suddenly the door was flung open and Arianys swaggered in.

Kuras looked annoyed, and the Incubi's hands strayed towards their hilts. "Can I help you, dearest sister? I was in the middle of…"

"It's my turn now, right?" She interrupted, glaring at him in the most brazenly confrontational manner possible. As the tension built, Silkaro desperately wished to be elsewhere, despite the thrilling emotion to sample.

"By right, it is your chance to lead the next raid." Kuras chose to answer the question directly and cut the crap.

"Fantastic, my _little _brother. I hope you have no problem with us going all out." Her mouth crooked in a cocky smile. Despite himself, Kuras was intrigued. He blinked in a moment of realisation, and his antagonism was leaving his lips before he knew it.

"Oh? Two displays of subtlety and you think your only recourse is overwhelming might? I understand, dearest sister. Intelligence was never your strong point." He barked a laugh, and the Succubus scowled but didn't rise to the bait.

"I promise you a show, little brother, something worth watching. In fact, we'll bring Medusae along and get a few recordings." She turned to saunter out.

With her gone, Kuras spoke. "I'll have to kill her someday. I'll make it slow."

Silkaro kept quiet, unsure of how to respond.

"Oh, you're still here? You are dismissed." Standing and saluting, the Dracon left as fast as protocol would allow. The rivalry between the siblings was no secret, but still the words troubled him.

_Because your ranks are equal. If she's expendable, so are you._

Silkaro shook himself. He knew that, and had known since he was a child. All Commorites considered each other expendable commodities. That was the game, and he had to play it well.


	4. A Brutal Assault

**Chapter 4**

**A Brutal Assault**

Resthaven was one of the five defensible points that Wesser had alluded to. It was a fairly large city in the middle of a huge open expanse in the lowlands. No matter which direction you left Resthaven, you were going uphill. A tired body comes to rest in haven, as the locals liked to say.

And those bodies were coming in their thousands. Refugees fleeing the smaller villages and hamlets for fear of swift death. Resthaven lacked the defensive walls of the capitol, but if there is one thing the Imperium is good at, it's erecting a defensive position on the fly. Troopers, civilians and tech-adepts laboured with sandbags, defence lines and all kinds of cobbled together makeshift barricades.

Unusually, it was daytime. The sun was in an early morning position, just having overcome the mountains in the distance. Buildings cast huge shadows as people moved around in the crisp, fresh air. At this moment, a column of about a thousand people, mostly farmers and their family was making their way in.

There was baying, and the people at the back of the column began to die as dog-like daemons, literally right out of nightmare, pounced. Huge muscled bodies bowled people over as they rampaged, enormous fangs cracking bone. Any who fell but were not killed were set upon by howling flocks of razorwings, stripping flesh from bone.

There were bigger beasts too. A trio of elephant sized creatures, loping quadrupeds with heavy armoured heads crushed and gored as the column began to stampede away in fright. Troopers at the city edges had begun to react to the slaughter in the distance, but now faced the very real prospect of being trampled to death.

They split as best they could, to allow the rush through, while picking off the beasts at a distance. A Leman Russ prowled up to the edge of the city, and a huge flock of birds disappeared in an instant as it spoke with the Emperor's voice. From on high, Beastmasters returned fire with their splinter pods, picking off a trooper here and there.

In the course of a few minutes, the defenders found themselves in an advantageous position, picking off the enemy at a distance from behind defensive barricades. A monster went down as a battle cannon shell removed its head and most of its shoulders. The dogs were hellishly tough, but went down too.

A disciplined layered fallback saw the remaining beasts taken out as they reached the village's boundaries, and the Beastmasters fled, their charges gone. Cheers were short lived as the diversionary tactic was revealed.

All eyes pulled to the beasts, there were precious few to watch as the main attack occurred at about one hundred and twenty degrees to that attack. Dozens of Raiders, all carrying Wyches swept in low, accompanied by Venoms and howling Reavers. But overtaking them in an instant was a flight of three Razorwings.

Murder Squadron, using intel passed on quickly by the Beastmasters, locked on to the handful of precious vehicles the PDF could muster. In their first pass, a Leman Russ and two Chimera died, in a gout of flames. One also got a good run on a cluster of refugees, shearing them in two with a monoscythe missile.

Then the Raiders reached the cities' edge.

===][===

Straining their engines to the max, the Reavers engaged first. At breakneck speeds they rushed down narrow streets, decapitating troopers and civilians alike. Even killing them was dangerous, as bikes crashed down into streets with no room to avoid them, crushing more people.

Caltrops fired, impaling more people, but the Troopers had regrouped enough to seek cover and drive off the light craft. They flew past the engagement zone, seeking easier prey in the cities' centre.

By that point, Wyches had begun to alight, disembarking from their swift moving transports. Wave after wave of warrior women moved through the weakened defensive cordon, killing as they went. Now inside Resthaven's perimeter, the fight moved into a close range brawl.

===][===

"She's attacking in broad daylight?" Kuras exclaimed. "What the hell is she thinking?"

Daring to offer an answer, Silkaro spoke. "To a degree, being able to see the death incoming is a greater type of fear than that which you can't. She may simply be trying to broaden our approach…"

"I don't care about that!" Kuras interrupted, snarling. "Think of the casualties! There's no way that she can retrieve them all. Once we leave behind evidence of our being, we lose a vital element of terror! We become tangible, defeatable."

"Master," said Malathys, inclining his skull-faced helmet, "then perhaps the best solution is to assist her. If we make sure the human settlement is completely wiped out, we'll have time to retrieve our assets."

Kuras drummed his fingers on the arm of his throne, perceptibly thinking. A failure by Arianys would weaken her standing in the Kabal. That would be good, and he could replace her fairly easily if he so desired.

Helping her out would also be a form of discrediting her, but a different one. His own involvement would make the politics a little trickier, but the spin would be fairly simple, he supposed.

But…what if she succeeded? Turned a disastrous result into a crushing blow? What if this was purposefully orchestrated so that she could play an asset later to tip the balance? Was she that clever? Kuras sincerely doubted it, but still…

===][===

Arianys hadn't bothered to draw her agoniser yet. Instead, she was enjoying the simple pleasure of knife work, getting in close and drawing blood. The current clutch of enemies defeated, her Bloodbrides and she had to dive for cover as a PDF squad poured fire down the road.

"This is a disaster," stated Ouraca, her Syren, brazenly. Unlike the Succubus, she'd already drawn her agoniser, treating the situation with the full respect it deserved. Arianys fixed her with a withering stare, but the Syren's truculent expression never wavered.

"We're winning," Arianys said offhandedly.

"Of course we are!" Ouraca snapped. "It's about how well we will win." In the next second, the Troopers foolishly tried to storm the position. Instants later, they were little more than corpses as the elite Hekatrii went to work, moving like quicksilver.

A Razorwing screamed overhead, and could be heard unleashing missiles. There was a distant explosion as another vehicle went up in smoke. But a lucky missile found the Razorwing, shearing a wing and sending it to explode into an enormous inferno, the thatched houses quickly igniting.

"Shit…," breathed Ouraca. That had been unfortunate, but all fortune, good or bad, fell upon Arianys. She smiled. More bad fortune, if the universe would be so kind. Maybe Arianys hated her brother, but Ouraca wouldn't mind _serving_ him.

The battle raged on for a long time. Waves of Wyches pushed forward through streets and ruins, hugging cover to close range as PDF soldiers fell back in staggered waves, keeping the distance open for as long as possible. There was no help coming, the defence stratagem required them to hold. There was nowhere to flee.

Huge masses of civilians died, many simply in the way, some trying to defend their homes and families. The Wyches maintained better cohesion than the Warriors had, seeking worthy opponents over torturing. They pushed deeper and deeper into Resthaven.

Then there was a droning noise. Eyes snapped up as a full squadron on Thunderbolts, the twelve members of White Hunter Squadron engaged. There were only two Razorwings left in the sky, but they fearlessly engaged into the dogfight. Many a flyboy would tell you of the horrendous effectiveness of Eldar fliers.

They rolled and jinked out of the way of incoming fire, flickerfields hiding them almost perfectly. They took down three Thunderbolts, but the weight of fire was too much, and both remaining aircraft went down. Thunderbolts are not ground attack craft, but they were laden with missiles, and came around in a lazy, slow turn to get a good run on the Eldar.

Raiders rose to meet them. Though not fully fledged fliers, Eldar skimmers were manoeuvrable, and lance fire reached out. Two more Imperial craft fell out of the sky, but they switched over to the new targets, raking the vulnerable skimmers with punishing fire.

As they climbed after that pass, they found themselves beset from another angle. Five more Razorwings were inbound.

===][===

"Where did they come from?" Arianys shouted angrily at the sky.

"Greetings, dearest sister!" She snapped around to that asshole, Kuras, walking calmly towards her, Incubi bodyguard fanning out behind him. She snarled.

"This was my raid! You have no right to interfere!"

Kuras spread his hands wide, placating. "Dearest sister, you do misunderstand me! We are here to help, not criticize!" Of course, that manner was calculated to anger, not placate. Arianys hand went to the agoniser coiled at her hip, and every single Incubus tensed their grips. No such loyalty emanated from the Bloodbrides.

Splinter fire rang out as Silkaro's Kabalites joined the fray, adding the long range punch to the Wych assault capabilities. Pain Engines surged forwards, tanking firepower for the fragile Eldar. Overhead, Abattoirs appeared, ready for the imminent capture.

Arianys shook in impotent rage. If the Haemonculi were here to capture civilians, then nothing could stop that from happening. This city would disappear from the map, but her role had suddenly been shrunk. She turned away from Kuras, stalking into the city deeper.

"Come, little brother, unless you are afraid to test your mettle."

Kuras grinned, drawing his sword, Father. He felt the Djin blade's power flow into him. He advanced swiftly, and his Incubi came with him.

===][===

"Gone…?" Mehan was distraught.

Wesser nodded glumly. "All we found were corpses of our people. No Eldar, no survivors."

"We were supposed to be able to hold…," Mehan said, "It was only five cities, but can we not save even that much?"

"We need help," Wesser stated.

"I know!" Mehan stood, raging. "But we are on the edge of Imperial space. We're not going to get any help in the near future." He frowned. "I want every able-bodied person over the age of eighteen given a gun and basic training."

"That's…logistically impossible," Wesser started.

"Then do what you can! We need bodies, and we need them now! We don't even have a single confirmed kill, for the Throne's sake! Sure, we must have, but there's no proof. We're fighting phantoms. What is more important than skill is watchful eyes everywhere."

===][===

Kuras sat back on his throne, wiping the blood of his foes off of his face. "Ahh, some exercise is nice!" He handed the towel to Keri, and with her other hand, she gave him the drink he had requested earlier. He took a sip and gasped over-dramatically. "That really hits the spot!"

Arianys glared at him, in line with Silkaro and Korolion. The Haemonculus was pleased with his haul, and Silkaro seemed happy that someone else was in line to suffer a fall.

"Good work, dearest sister!" The trio all reacted in surprise to the words. "You moved the schedule up a bit, but taking out one of their main settlements with no survivors? Just think of how scared the others must be!" His face was gleeful at the prospect.

But despite his word, Arianys understood the implication; if she tried to take any glory, it would be instantly thrown back in her face. She'd needed help, after all. No, not needed; she'd had it forced upon her.

"I humbly accept your praise," she said, bowing to hide the anger in her face. Kuras smiled smugly, understanding what she was doing. He gestured, and Keri carried a platter of three drinks to the generals. They took them with varying levels of disdain towards the human. Xenos manservant's were common due to the treachery of their own kind, but all felt that Kuras was …_overly familiar_… with his. Keri did not linger long before Korolion's gaze.

"Now, my loyal followers," he said amiably, "allow me to fill you in on the details of _my _raid. I will be requesting support from all of you in order to make it a reality."

===][===

_+++Message started+++_

_Timestamp: 968:061_

_Source: Nocturne's Core_

_Distress call received._

_The Salamanders acknowledge._

_The Emperor Protects._

_+++Message ends+++_


	5. An Ecumenical Matter

**Chapter 5**

**An Ecumenical Matter**

Dacia's main religious institution sat several kilometres away from Crocas, the capitol. High in the mountains, secluded from the world was an enormous fortress-monastery. It was built into the mountain itself, so that only the front wall was visible, the rest extending underground.

Snow flecked the open ground before the monastery; a potential killing zone if any dared to cross it. It was not one of the five locations Wesser had set out to defend, instead recommending evacuation for the Arch-Bishop and his congregation. However, they'd refused to leave the holy site, and had dug in to defend it. The Emperor rewards those willing to fight in His name.

A perimeter alarm flared, and warrior priests rushed to the battlements, armed with a hastily assembled assortment of lasguns, autoguns and other sidearms. Most never lived to see the foe. Hands reached out of the shadows, slitting throats, blood frosting as it erupted.

Men jumped out of their skins, trying to react to the shadow walkers. But they were in close, and the casualties were horrendous. Just ten, one shade-kin, was enough to take out a few dozen men and disrupt the rest. Still, daemonic bodies dissipated into mist as they were destroyed.

But then, the assault had closed under the diversion and driving snow. Wyches surged forward under the cover of Kabalites, Pain Engines leading the way with their tough carapaces. The unholy spectrum of the Commorites was in full effect.

Reinforced rockrete cracked under the attentions of lance fire, and was then split asunder by the straining Taloi. The Wyches leapt through, nimbly navigating the tiniest of cracks.

They were inside.

===][===

Kuras strolled casually through the interior, his Incubi spread in front and behind him. He noted the decorations with interest. Murals and items of worship were everywhere. It seemed like a fairly normal religion of the Emperor, none of that backwards 'sungod' thing you had going on some planets.

From a hiding place, a man screaming in fear lunged out with some ceremonial sword, aiming for Malathys of all people. It wasn't even funny, really. Even Kuras only barely turned to catch a glimpse of the master Incubi's work, demi-klaives spinning. The man hit the floor in pieces.

"Eight pieces," noted Kuras, impressed.

"Only seven," Malathys spat, visibly annoyed. "I didn't quite sever the right thigh." He kicked the human chunk, and Kuras could see what he meant. The two bits of leg were held together by a thin flap of skin. Kuras laughed at the eldar's perfectionism.

The Klaivex inclined his head, listening to his commfeed. "Master, we've located our target."

===][===

Two Kabalites guarding the huge double doors saluted as Kuras approached. He barely acknowledged them, entering the chamber beyond. It was a lavishly appointed room, with a red carpet, and bookshelves and statues lining the walls. Another pair of Kabalites minded their quarry.

In a chair, relatively untouched, sat Arch-Bishop Jacob Gardner. There was something about human religious leaders that promoted pointy hats, Kuras noted. But he'd never seen a direct reason why, beyond the fact that they were pompous assholes.

Kuras drew up a chair and sat on it idly thumbing through a large holy book that had been nearby. The man's eyes flashed at such sacrilege, but he appeared beaten and made no move. Kuras jabbed a finger at passage.

"Ollanius 27:13; _and we looked upon the Emperor's holy form, and knew him to be the saviour of mankind_. How would you reconcile this with the writings of the Saint Beati who said that no man has seen His face at any time?"

Having a theological question posed to him by this…blasphemy sent murder across Jacob's features. Kuras did so enjoy impotent rage.

"I would not expect such a debase creature to understand His divine revelation," he spat.

"Oh? What a shame. And there I was thinking there was a contradiction in your scripture! Silly me, no I'm sure your theology's airtight."

"Just kill me! I don't fear death!" Jacob shouted. Kuras burst out laughing. Recovering, he leaned in close to the Arch-bishop's face, grinning ear-to-ear.

"Death is the least of the fates we can grant you!" He leaned back again, resuming his insouciant stance, legs crossed. He flicked through the book again. "Tch, how do you take this with a straight face? Myths and fables retold and re-imagined through millennia until nothing sensible remains."

"The Emperor is real!" Jacob snapped.

"Well of course he is! But he's just a shrivelled husk on a glorified toilet." Kuras laughed at his own wit. "Toilet humour. I am spending too much time studying your species."

Jacob glared at his irreverence, but Kuras went on. "Now what's the church's tithe on this planet? Judging by the upholstery…twenty five percent?" The man didn't respond. "Isn't it interesting how an organisation that tries to rescue your immortal soul needs so much money?"

"What are you going to do to me?" Jacob tried to cut through all of this bullshit.

"Hmm? Nothing," Kuras replied distractedly, reading.

"What?"

"In fact, we may have overstayed our welcome already. Malathys?" He turned as he addressed his Klaivex, who was listening to comm. traffic.

"All other human life signs appear to be purged, Master."

"Good, shall we go? I feel impolite to intrude too long." He got up, and all of the Eldar in the room made to leave.

"What are you doing?" Shrieked the Arch-bishop. None paid him any mind as they left, closing the chamber door behind them. Kuras still carried the holy book. It would go nicely in his library and provide endless entertainment, as well as a glimpse into the psychology of human religion.

"Do you believe this will break him?" Malathys asked. That was the simple plan; turn their religious leader into a lunatic. That would be damning for morale.

"Not this time, but we'll pay him another visit. We'll turn him into a babbling wreck sooner or later!" There was such glee in the words.

===][===

Eldar were gathering in the courtyard, preparing to make the transit back to Commoragh, when all hell broke loose. A clutch of three green-liveried drop-pods impacted, sides opening within seconds to reveal a collection of assault cannons.

Eldar died in their dozens, mown down without cover of any kind. Thin skinned transports were likewise chewed through, at rest and not expecting a fight. Taloi suffered the punishment, but none fell.

Mere seconds after the magazine were expended, a second clutch of drop-pods vlanded, using the first as guides. Thirty tactical marines made the battlefield. Bolters spoke and more aliens died, still lacking any real protection.

It was one sided. Marines carried such heavy armour and the Eldar so little that without cover, they died without achieving anything. Missiles slammed into the Taloi, bolt shells expertly aiming for weak areas. The courtyard cleared, with zero casualties. The Salamanders advanced.

===][===

"Shit!" Roared Kuras. "Back, deeper into the fortress! Ar'rankar!" The Mandrake appeared, flitting from shadow to shadow.

"Yes, Master?"

"Prepare the shadowgate," he said dismally.

"The cost will be high," rasped the shadow walker's ghostly voice. He didn't wait for an answer and disappeared back into the realm of shadow. Kuras grimaced. He should have thought to bring a webway portal, but hadn't considered the danger so high. This was unexpected.

In truth, he had an emergency portal, but it was good for one use for one person. He wasn't quite ready to sacrifice his bodyguard just yet. His standing had just taken a knock, and they might be very useful in the hours to come.

There were still Kabalites and Wyches in the fortress, and they gave a much better account of themselves as they used the corridors for cover. Still, only three marines went down, and not all fatally wounded.

Kuras and his Incubi were in a dead end. They had to hold here until the shadowgate was opened. A marine, perhaps slightly careless from his previous fights rounded the corner. If they had been Wyches or Kabalites, he would probably have been fine, but as it was, he ended up in close range with three Incubi.

The first swing sheared the end of his bolter off, the second his right arm, and the third took his head in a great horizontal arc, helmet flying through the air. His body crashed backwards, back into the main corridor, and wisely, no marine followed him to instant death.

A couple of speculative frag grenades came around the corner, and the Incubi backed away, safe in their armour. Reality seemed to change around them. Kuras looked behind him, and where there had once been a wall, there was now a swirling ebon vortex, made out of purest shadow. If you looked too closely, you could see faces in the darkness, and whispers beckoned them.

Out of options, they jumped through.

===][===

The 'distance', if one could measure such a thing, was short. For such a dangerous method of travel, they'd only gone as far as necessary to escape, and were in some undistinguished branch of the webway. Every member of the party was somewhat withered, though only Kuras had any skin bared.

The shadows had leeched life out of their very souls as they passed through. The most dangerous thing for any Commorite. Bodies could be re-grown, but souls…to risk those was to risk true death. Swiftly, they headed for their home. They would need to visit their slave pits and reenergise.

===][===

Having dealt with the immediate problem, Kuras had another slave brought before him in chains. Unusually, he'd requested a large male. He needed something that wouldn't expire too quickly. Therapeutically, Kuras used him as a punching bag, working his frustrations out at the day's events.

He had looked weak! There was no bigger crime. He could look forward to an increase in murder attempt in the following days, until he could re-establish his authority. He needed something big, something unquestionable, but nothing was forthcoming at the moment, as he was swamped with rage.

Bones cracked under his fists. Kuras was no lightweight, training himself constantly for battle. He was sure that he could take a marine one on one. Sure, they were powerful, but he was faster, and between his Djin Blade and Clone Field, felt like he could get a fatal blow in. However, expert on humans as he was, he was no fool. He knew just how dangerous this breed of humans was.

One problem was that splinter weaponry was great at dealing with lightly armoured targets, but useless against heavily armoured ones. And marines could neutralise a great deal of poison. He would have to spend some assets on getting a particularly virulent venom.

Then there was the marine's ability to respond from orbit to any ground assaults. No matter where they struck, they'd be intercepted. Without a clear grasp of their naval might, Kuras was loathe to send in his own meagre fleet. In truth, the Kabal of the Shattered Mirror was small, and spaceships were not cheap.

His eyes flashed. He needed help.

Practising one of the human's fighting styles, he stepped in on his right foot, twisting his right arm as he pivoted, drilling a punch into the man's skull. He felt the bone shatter, and the man drooped, his brain flooding with blood.

"Bring it on," Kuras hissed to the dying man. "I'll shatter anyone who stands in my way."

===][===

The war room exploded into cheers. Arch-bishop Gardner had arrived, escorted by one of the Salamanders. The man looked shaken, but being saved by the Emperor's Angels was enough to restore the faith of any man. Nonetheless, he'd accepted the need to be moved. The Salamanders hadn't left much room for argument.

The marine addressed General Wesser. "I am Brother Korone. I was injured in the fight in the monastery, and Captain T'Gath asked me to work as liaison with you."

Wesser saluted, not knowing what else to do. The Angel took his breath away, though his workmanlike attitude was reassuring. "It is good to have you here."

The marine extended a hand and Wesser shook it, fearful of having his hand crushed, but the marine was gentle. Mehan looked on from a short distance away. He sighed, the stress he'd accumulated seeming to both wear off and settle in.

"The Emperor protects."


End file.
